Better
by FerryBerry
Summary: When tragedy strikes, Rachel's friends all want to support her. She just wants to be left alone. Warning: character death - not Quinn or Rachel.


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. All belongs to _Glee_ writers and creators.

**A/N:** Yeah, I have no idea where this came from. And I'm not sure I'm happy with it, but evidently I had to get it out of the way before I could work on the next chapter of 'The Choice I Make' in peace. Hope you like, and I'm off to work. ;)

**Better**

Everyone visits. People I know. People I just barely remember. I don't say hello, and I know it's rude, but I don't care anymore. Because maybe—just maybe—if I don't speak, if I don't acknowledge it, life will stand still. Because this white-walled purgatory is ten times better than the hell that awaits if I do.

Dad hardly leaves my side. He talks to me, cries with me—I try my hardest not to, but when I see him break, it's real and I can't seem to stop, and I'm almost grateful when he leaves me during visitor's hours. Almost.

As soon as the people come I wish he was back, that he would stay so they wouldn't come. I can't stand the way they look at me. I can't stand it when they talk, or when they don't. I want them to leave, but the stream is never-ending. Teachers come offering condolences. People from school come to shove their hands in their pockets and stare at me, like that will somehow make up for the years of school when they weren't there, didn't notice, didn't care. Jacob Ben Israel comes to weep.

Glee club comes. All of them at once. I thought at first I'd be grateful to see them, but they're worse than anyone.

Mr. Schuester won't stop looking at me with big, sad eyes when he brings them all in, and saying how sorry they all are. Tina and Mercedes won't stop crying. The rest of them won't stop staring. Staring, always staring. I can't take seeing all of them at once, seeing them all pitying me, so I turn my head because I can't roll over, and eventually they leave.

They come in twos or alone now. Mr. Schuester's visits are short. He doesn't know what to say now that I give him a chance to speak.

Mike and Matt only come once. They put on a puppet show, try to make me laugh. I sob. They don't come back.

Noah makes it worse when he comes, and he seems to know, because he doesn't come often. When he does, all he can do is apologize over and over until either I or he can't take it anymore. Then he leaves.

Artie doesn't know what to say when they come, so he doesn't say anything. He stares while Tina holds my hand. I let her because she acts like she'll cry if I don't, and I can't take that. The contact makes it worse. Things feel real, and I don't want it. So I let her hold it as long as I can take it, and then I pull away and wait until they're gone to sob into my pillow, because feeling reality makes me do that.

Mercedes can't stop crying when she sees me. She has to leave the room minutes after coming in because seeing me breaks her. Kurt stays longer. He tells me all the celebrity gossip, like nothing has changed. Only it has, because his voice is softer when he tells me, and he didn't used to have to tell me. We used to discuss it, argue about it. My voice is missing from the conversation, and we both feel it. He leaves when he's finished, telling me it'll get better eventually. I want to throw something at him.

Brittany brings me stuffed animals every time they come. I don't take them, so she sets them by my hand and I feel the fake fur on my skin and it makes tears run down my cheeks. I'm grateful when the nurse comes and puts them on the window sill. Santana brings nothing, but she comes. They sit and stare at me. I don't look at them. Brittany doesn't know what to say, so she just talks. Santana has run out of insults now. They leave when Brittany can't think of anything more to say.

Finn is the worst. I hate him when he comes, and he comes every day. He brings me flowers that only the nurses appreciate. He talks about his father, but how it's not the same. He says he's sorry. He begs me to speak to him. He asks me questions. He sings once, but I scream and the nurse comes and he doesn't sing anymore. But he still comes. And I want him to leave.

Quinn comes. Every day. I don't know why. I'm curious, but I don't ask, because I don't care enough. She comes, she's there, and that's that. She doesn't speak, either. The only thing she says is 'Hello,' when she comes in. Then she sits in the chair next to my bed and looks at me, and tears are in her eyes, but she won't cry like Mercedes. Her hand is always on the mattress, but she won't touch me like Tina. Her silence isn't uncomfortable, uncertain, like Santana and Artie and Noah's. She just looks at me, and that's all she seems to want.

So I let her. Sometimes I stare back. Sometimes I look out the window.

Today I'm upset because Finn was here before her. I scowl at her.

"Hello," she says.

I look out the window, and I hear her scoot the chair next to the bed, see her hand move to the sheet. Her hand almost touches mine today.

I can't see the tops of the buildings out my window. I can only see the blue sky; the happy clouds float across it. I hate them. I wish it would rain.

My neck starts to hurt from looking out the window. I look at Quinn. She sighs, and I know she has to leave, because that's the sound she always makes when it's time. It's heavy. It's the noise I would make if I made a noise. I expect her to get up and walk out. She doesn't. I wait.

Then she touches me. It's startling and I pull away reflexively. There's hurt in her eyes and I'm sorry. She is, too. She leaves.

Dad comes back, and he's crying all over again. My heart aches for him, but I say nothing as he sobs into my hand. My hand that still feels Quinn's fingers.

XXXXXX

Quinn comes at her exact time again. I'm relieved. Too much so to wonder why.

"Hello," she says.

Finn visited earlier today, so my scowl is less so when I look at her. She sits, and I decide today I want to stare back. She locks our gazes and reaches deliberately for my hand, giving me ample time to move away. She doesn't want to startle me today. I don't move, and her hand is warm on mine. It's real. It hurts.

While she's touching me, everything happened. I remember it and I'm in pain and I want to cry, but I won't. Not in front of her.

I'm biting my lip to keep from crying. I stare at the ceiling, because looking at her with her hand on mine is too much. Too much all at once.

The time ticks by. Tears leak out of the corners of my eyes. I try to control myself. I'm relieved when she sighs. She lets go slowly and she leaves, and I sob into the silence.

Dad cries with me when he comes back, and we hold each other.

XXXXXX

Quinn takes my hand again, and it hurts just as much as yesterday. There's a stuffed cat sitting on my lap from Brittany. That hurts, too.

I cry before she leaves this time. The soft whimpers escape me before I can stop them, and then I'm weeping and she is, too, but quieter than me. Her hand squeezes tighter around mine, but she doesn't do anything else.

I hear her sigh and part of me is grateful. The other part doesn't want her to go. They argue.

Both parts go silent when she kisses the back of my hand.

When she leaves, part of me is glad, because I hate crying in front of her. The other part wants her to come back, because her company is more bearable than anyone else's. But now there's a third part. It wants to know why she did that.

XXXXXX

When Quinn comes in today, I stare at her and don't stop.

She says, "Hello," and stares back.

She fumbles for the chair because she won't break eye contact with me. When she's sitting, she takes my hand again. I watch her. The pain is bad. My sobs are quieter today. Her tears match mine, but she makes no noise.

When she sighs, I echo it. It makes her stare, and her lips move, but she says nothing. She turns my hand over and kisses my palm and leaves.

I wonder what she'll kiss tomorrow.

XXXXXX

Finn won't leave. It's Quinn's turn and he hasn't gone yet. I want Quinn. I want to scream at him. He's talking.

"Rach, please...please just talk to me," he says, and there are tears in his voice. "I know you're hurting, but you can talk to me about it. It'll make you feel better, I promise."

Nothing makes me feel better, I want to say. But I don't. I glare at him.

"Ms. Pillsbury said you might be trying to blame yourself. But you've got to believe me—it wasn't your fault."

I scream. Finn flinches. I sob. He tries to touch me. I throw my pillow at him, even though it hurts to sit up, hurts to throw.

"What did you do?"

Quinn's voice is sharp, cuts through the fog of pain. I'm relieved to see her. She's angry.

"I was just trying to make her feel better!" Finn exclaims, defending himself. "I just told her it wasn't her fault and—"

I wail, wishing he would stop saying that. Stop talking about it, because it didn't happen. Quinn is yelling at him and a nurse comes in and tries to touch me, calm me down, but I shove her away. She tells Finn he has to leave and he does, dejectedly.

Then she tries to make Quinn leave. I cry louder and I know I'm breaking my own rule, but I whimper, "No."

They both stare at me. The nurse gives in, but I know it's only because it's the first word I've spoken since I got here. As soon as she's gone, Quinn comes over and sits on the bed this time—a first—and wraps her arms around me—another first—and I sob into her shoulder and she rocks me and pets my hair and says, "Hello," and then she whispers my name over and over in her soft voice and we've made a new record of firsts, because it's not 'Man Hands' or 'Berry' that she calls me, but 'Rachel' and God help me, it helps to hear her say it.

When Dad comes in, I'm not even crying anymore. I've run out of tears, but I won't let go of Quinn and she hasn't let go of me and I wonder why it's Quinn I'm latching onto when it could be anyone else, because they've all offered their hands. But the only one I'll take is Quinn's and I still don't know why.

I decide it doesn't matter when Dad pries me loose. I'm too exhausted to put up a fight. I do fight to stay awake—so I can feel Quinn's kiss. I hear Dad thank her. She tells him not to.

She's kissed both sides of my hands, wrists, forearms, and arms by now, and I want to know what she'll do next. If she'll start over. If she'll kiss something new. I struggle to open my eyes when I realize they've closed.

I feel a pillow tucked under my head. A kiss is pressed to my forehead. I try to open my eyes, and the attempt gives me a glimpse of blonde hair. I fall asleep.

XXXXXX

I'm home. It doesn't feel like home. I treat it like the hospital. I crawl into bed and I don't leave.

Finn doesn't visit anymore. Some of glee still does. Mr. Schuester does when he can. Ms. Pillsbury occasionally does now. I expect her presence to be annoying, but she only tells me I can talk if I want to. I like that.

Mike and Matt visit with flowers. Noah does once, the day after I'm back home. He apologizes, pats my shoulder, and then he's gone.

Tina brings a card from Artie. She still holds my hand when she visits. I only let her for so long, because it's Quinn's hand and Tina is only borrowing it. She doesn't seem as tearful now, but she still tells me how sorry she is.

Mercedes doesn't cry every time now, either. She still has to leave the room sometimes, but now she brings me chocolate and candy and things. I give them to Dad, to make her think I ate them. I can tell it cheers her up, and I feel a little better. Kurt is getting impatient with me. He tries not to show it, but I can see he wants a response. I won't give it to him. I don't roll over, to make up for it, when they come.

Brittany still brings me stuffed animals. I line them up on an unused shelf. It cheers her up to see they're still there when she comes. She brings me a stuffed duck today. It's so Brittany I almost cry, and instead I put my hand on it when she puts it next to me. She gets so excited she does cry, and Santana smiles. She talks to me now. Tells me the weather report. It's lame and we both know it, but she's trying. And I appreciate it.

Quinn still comes every day. She stays for longer now that the hospital visiting hours don't restrict her. She still holds my hand and she's kissed both of my cheeks now. She kissed the tip of my nose yesterday. I look forward to seeing what she'll do every day.

Today she's late. I get impatient and I worry that she won't come. I want her. Every time I think it, I feel like a toddler being deprived of its favorite toy. And I don't care. I want Quinn.

When she finally comes, I want to scold her for making me worry, and it startles me, because it sounds like something I used to do when life was real.

She says, "Hello."

She goes to get my chair. I watch her and wonder why she's late. I don't want it to happen again. I fear she'll come later and later. And, worse, stop coming altogether. I'm so scared of this I break my own rule. My voice cracks from lack of use, and it's quieter than I remember. But it's enough.

"Hi."

Quinn freezes. She stares at me. I stare back. She opens her mouth, but it closes again. I can see she doesn't want to push me. I'm grateful when she sits and takes my hand.

She kisses my chin when she has to leave.

XXXXXX

Today is another day of firsts. Quinn comes in on time, and she smiles. I don't smile back, but I like it. I like seeing it on her face, the way it changes it. I don't know how to tell her this without words.

"Hello," she says.

"Hi," I say back, as I have been.

Dad drops his laundry in the hall. Quinn rushes to help him and I sit up to do the same, but I'm weak and Dad steers Quinn back in.

"Do that again," he orders, and he's shaking with his excitement.

Quinn looks bewildered. Dad gestures to me and she seems to get it. She looks shocked, like she didn't know she's the only one I speak to.

"Hello," she repeats, looking at me.

Dad will cry if I don't say it. I know he will. So I croak it out.

"Hi."

He cries anyway, but it's happy, because he's laughing at the same time and hugging Quinn, who's laughing too now, and then he's hugging me. He makes us do it at least ten times over before he lets us have our time alone—but not before telling Quinn to stay for dinner. She agrees, even though it wasn't a request.

When he leaves, Quinn walks over to my shelves, and I wait for her to grab her chair. Instead, she pulls a movie from the shelf and puts it in my dusty TV. She blows on it and dust flies up, making her cough. She wipes her mouth and comes back to the bed, remote in hand. But she doesn't grab the chair.

She gets onto the bed next to me, on top of the blankets, and she takes my hand in hers. I stare at her. She looks at the screen, and eventually I do, too. I don't know what the movie is, because the only thing I'm focusing on is Quinn's fingers threaded through mine.

When the movie ends, Dad coaxes me out of bed for dinner, reminding me I need to eat. Quinn looks shocked again, but she doesn't say anything. We eat dinner together and they talk and I can tell Dad loves Quinn. I also know what he's thinking, because you don't live with a person seventeen years without recognizing what they're thinking sometimes. He thinks Quinn is the best thing for me.

And I can't really disagree.

XXXXXX

We run out of movies on my shelf. Movies that aren't musicals, anyway. I know there are many more, but Quinn doesn't put in movies with singing in them. I wonder how she knows, but I don't ask.

She brings movies now. I haven't seen some. She makes me come downstairs to watch some of them, and I know she's trying to keep me mobile. I don't mind. She eats popcorn during her favorites, and holds my hand as always.

Today she doesn't have a movie in hand, but she still smiles like she has every day since that first day, like she knows I like it.

"Hello."

"Hi."

I want to ask where the movie is, but she walks over to the shelf. I wait for a repeat showing, but then she holds up '_My Fair Lady_.' I feel sick. I shake my head, but she's already turned to put it in. She lays down next to me and holds my hand. I want to cover my ears.

No more singing. Even if I speak, I never want to sing again. Not without him. Not after what happened. I can't. I want nothing to do with it.

But it's inevitable. The music starts and then the singing and I rip my hand away from Quinn's and sob into the pillow and hold my hands over my ears, and I'm crying so loud I don't hear it when she stops it. I only feel the bed shifting and then she's holding me from behind, kissing my cheek and ear and temple and hair and whispering my name—and that she's sorry.

I fall asleep crying, and when I wake, it's dark and I know she's gone home.

And I miss her.

XXXXXX

Quinn waits. She doesn't show me another musical for a long time, and by then Finn is visiting again. I don't hate him when he comes anymore, but I don't let him touch me like he tries to. I listen to him tell me about how his summer is going and now I nod to acknowledge people, which delights my friends, especially Brittany. He's hurt that I don't talk to him. I don't talk to anyone except Dad and Quinn, though, and only to say 'hi.' He'll have to get used to it.

Finn leaves when Quinn comes in and I say hi to her. He's upset.

Quinn kisses my cheek. I'm surprised. She doesn't kiss unless she's about to leave. I worry that that's what this means—that she's leaving me—but she walks to the shelf, picks up '_The Music Man_,' shows it to me. She waits. I wait.

I feel less sick this time. I sigh and slowly nod. She puts it in, lays next to me, tucks her arm beneath my shoulders to hold me. I'm surprised again. She doesn't touch other than to hold my hand unless I cry. I sink into it anyway, rest my head on her shoulder. She doesn't move away.

The first song starts. I remember the words like a distant memory. I cry silently into Quinn's shoulder, she rubs my arm. By the end, I've run out of tears and it's time for dinner.

Quinn stops me at the door. I meet her gaze and wonder what she's thinking. She doesn't speak, nor smile, and before I know what I'm doing, I've kissed her cheek and I'm walking down the hallway. It shouldn't seem like such a big deal, since she's kissed me what feels like hundreds of times by now, but it is, and we both know it.

And Quinn is smiling at me through dinner.

XXXXXX

We've watched almost all the musicals in my collection when she pulls out '_My Fair Lady_' again. I don't feel so horrible when I see it this time. I don't cry when we watch them anymore, but she still looks at me to see if it's all right. I always nod now, because it isn't so bad hearing the singing, even if I never sing again.

I can't remember what Quinn's voice sounds like, and that's all I'm thinking about as we watch, her shoulder acting as my pillow again. I know it's pretty, but that's the extent of my memory. I wish Mr. Schuester had given her more solos, so I could remember.

Quinn smiles at me when the credits start. She looks surprised to find me watching her. I don't want to break my rule any more than I already have, but there's no other way I can think of to get what I want. So I say it. Whisper it, actually.

"Sing?"

Quinn's brow arches, like she doesn't quite get what I mean. I sigh, knowing I need to add more and not wanting to.

"Please?"

It makes more sense to her now. She considers me, and I think she's going to refuse. But then she acquiesces, very quietly, like she's trying to lull me to sleep. It's so beautiful I almost cry, and my eyelids droop after a while, but I refuse to let them close because I want to see her. I'm fighting a losing battle, though, and I feel her kiss my brow when I realize I've half-dozed off.

I open my eyes, not wanting her to leave, but she hasn't moved.

I smile at her.

XXXXXX

I make Quinn sing to me every day. But it evens out, because she makes me ask every day, even though she knows I want her to. I'm almost bouncing by the end of '_The Sound of Music_,' wanting to hear her. She smirks at me when the credits roll. I don't hesitate.

"Sing, please," I say quietly.

She pauses, thinking. I wait impatiently. Then she begins, softly.

"_You're not alone, together we stand, I'll be by your side, you know I'll take your hand_..."

She waits. So do I, and I tug at her hand to prompt her to go on.

"It's a duet," she says. "It's your turn."

I feel sick again. I shake my head. She's pushing me, and she knows it.

"It's our song," she continues stubbornly.

I shake it harder, until I realize what she said. I remember now. Remember suggesting it to Mr. Schuester, singing it to a tearful Quinn in harmony with Finn, and for once thinking only of her. As I should've been all along. That's why it was 'our' song.

I sigh, and it's shaky. Quinn squeezes her arm around me encouragingly. I take a breath. First I'm just speaking the words that were once Finn's, like my voice doesn't remember how to sing. But when our voices join for the chorus, I hit a note and I start shaking uncontrollably as I remember.

It hurts—bad. Quinn presses our foreheads together, still singing even though I've stopped, and I'm crying harder than I've ever cried and I cling to her, seeking refuge from the horrible ache in my chest and the vicious memory replaying over and over in my mind.

Of us singing together. Him driving. Me taking the third verse. Him laughing. And the screech of tires.

XXXXXX

It's dark when I wake up again. I bite back a sob. It really happened. I want Quinn.

That's when I hear a second set of breaths from behind me. I roll over and my heart leaps as I realize it is Quinn. She hasn't left me. She's under the blankets with me and I curl into her heat, almost gasping at the feeling of the length of her body against mine.

I bury my face in her shoulder and let myself cry. I know she's awake when I feel her arms wrap around me and our foreheads press together again. She holds me and I sob, and I talk. More than I have since it happened.

"He's gone," I whimper over and over, and she squeezes me and I tell her I don't want it to be real and I don't know what else I say because it's so jumbled and mixed with my tears, but she doesn't speak, only listens, and I don't know what I would do without her. The irony of that doesn't hit me until later, and I still don't care.

I'm still crying, but I've fallen silent and I know she's still there, but I want to hear her, so I whisper, "Quinn?"

She kisses me. For real, this time. And I freeze because I'm startled and it's new for us and I don't know if she missed her real target in the darkness or if she's really kissing me. I feel miserable at the thought of the former, but she keeps kissing me, tasting my lips. I'm about to try kissing back when she pulls away.

I can't see much, but the moonlight casts enough light for me to see that Quinn's eyes are sparkling. It takes me a minute to realize it's with tears.

"Quinn," I say again, but she's already easing away, and I try to run after her, I do. But even though she and Dad have been getting me up and about and the only time I'm really laying in bed these days is when Quinn and I watch a movie, it's not the same as when I used my elliptical every day, and she's been getting rid of pregnancy fat while I've been loafing around.

I don't catch her.

XXXXXX

I want Daddy. I want Dad. I want Quinn.

I can't have any of them. Daddy's gone. Every time I think it I sob, and I want to murder that drunken driver myself. And then sometimes I don't. Sometimes I just want to lie there and miss him and wish it had been me.

Dad had to go back to work. I don't think it's fair that it has to be this soon. I miss him.

Quinn has been absent for two days. I stay in bed missing her, missing them, wishing I were dead.

No one comes by today. Mike and Matt hardly did in the first place. Noah came a week ago. Tina and Artie were already there a few days ago with Mercedes and Kurt. And Brittany and Santana came yesterday with another stuffed duck. Finn only comes when he 'has time.' I don't expect him often.

I lay in bed, pulling the covers over my head when the sun starts to shine on me. I hate it. I wish it would rain. I miss Daddy. And Dad. And Quinn.

I have no more tears. I'm completely dried up. I want to hit something, and I want to scream, and I want to hear Quinn sing to me. The door creaks. There's silence, and my hope dies as I realize it was just the wind. Except it wasn't.

"Hello."

I slowly pull the covers down, squinting at the sun. Quinn watches me, looking weary and wary and sad.

"Hi," I say.

I want her to come closer, but I don't want to scare her.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs.

I blink. "Why?"

She's silent so long I think she won't answer.

"I'm sorry," she repeats, firmer this time, like that will make me get it.

"I missed you," I blurt.

She nods, looking ashamed, and now she won't meet my eyes. I push aside the covers, dragging myself off the mattress, and Quinn doesn't realize I'm coming toward her until I'm almost right under her nose. Then she looks surprised and starts to move out of the way, like she thinks I'm going to kick her out.

I stop her, holding her in place, and lean up to press a chaste kiss to her lips. She doesn't respond, and I know she's in shock when I lower myself to my heels and she stares.

"Quinn, I would like you to think back to two nights ago. If you recall, my reaction was much the same as yours is presently," I say, and I'm surprised at how strong my voice is. "I'm confident you will realize my point without further aid on my end."

There's silence. It's the most 'me' thing I've said since the accident, and we both know it. My voice is superior and bossy, and the only thing missing is a command, but it's taken all my energy just to muster those three sentences. And I'm nervous about what Quinn will do next, if she'll react to my words the way she would've a few months ago or not.

She grins. She cups my neck with her hands and showers my face with endless kisses and she's crying and laughing at once and I finally realize what her kisses mean, and have meant this whole time.

_I'm here, I love you_.

XXXXXX

School starts soon. I'm not sure I'm ready. Quinn tells me we'll get me ready. We start with a meal outside the house. Lunch with glee.

Everyone greets me happily. The girls hug me, except for Santana. Santana smiles. The sun is making me squint, but I see it, and I smile nervously back. The boys vary. Mike and Matt say hello, Kurt smiles, Noah hugs me. Finn hugs me, too, but he kisses the top of my head. I scurry back to Quinn and Finn apologizes. I tell him it's okay, and he feels better.

Quinn is nervous in public. Protecting me is more important, though, so when she sees I'm almost crying, she tries to let go of it and holds me. The second time she stiffens as the second person walks by, I go to the bathroom.

When I come back, everyone is solemn again. I sit next to Brittany and she chatters and the mood lifts. I feel better. Mike and Matt tentatively joke and I smile and they get so excited the couple at another booth shushes them. Noah touches me—puts his hand on my shoulder, wraps his arm around me briefly—all short contact to let me know he's there. I get the message and I touch back to let him know. Quinn is jealous.

Tina and Mercedes aren't crying now, and Kurt isn't impatient, and Artie isn't uncertain, and Brittany is happy. They all clamor around me and talk about glee and what they've been doing all summer and I listen avidly and I feel like I'll be okay.

Santana takes care of my trash for me and I smile at her. It's weird for us, but she awkwardly smiles back and I talk to Finn, and he's not upset anymore. We feel like friends again. I like it. He confides that he likes living with Kurt, that the boy is neater than him and it's strangely nice having to pick up after himself. I would tease him, but I'm draining fast now. Quinn sees it.

She drives me home and I take off my shoes and collapse into bed. I feel her lay next to me, but I don't look.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly.

Her hand rubs my side up and down, and I feel her kiss the hair on my neck.

I'm tired. Too tired for this conversation. But I ask reluctantly, "For what?"

"I'm sorry," she repeats. Like I should get it now. She breathes during the pause, and then her words come out harsh. "You didn't have to sit away from me."

She's jealous again, jealous of Brittany. It makes me want to laugh, but I don't.

"I was giving you space," I sigh. I want to sleep, but she's not done.

"I don't want space."

"You need it."

"No, I don't."

Her voice is sharp. I'm making her angry, but I know she's more angry with herself than with me. I shake my head, curl tighter around myself, wish Daddy was here to tell me what to say to her. He always knew the perfect thing to say. I want to cry.

"Yes, you do. You're not ready," I whisper. "And I understand, Quinn. It's okay."

It's not my old eloquence, but I'm too tired to muster much more than that. My eyelids droop. Quinn is silent, and her voice is soft when she speaks again.

"I want to be ready."

"I know." I yawn. "So do I."

She wraps herself around me and takes my hand and I feel her kiss as close to my mouth as she can get before I fall asleep.

XXXXXX

It's my first outing without Quinn. I'm terrified, but Brittany keeps her hand firmly around mine as we walk and it makes me feel marginally better. Santana is on my other side, guarding me from all the people milling around the mall while Kurt and Mercedes bound ahead. I know it's silly, but I start to think of the Cheerios as my guardians. The irony hits me right away this time.

Kurt picks out an argyle sweater for Mercedes to try on and I laugh for the first time since the accident. It startles me just as much as them, and I'm crying by the time I'm finished and Brittany is hugging me and I hear Mercedes ask if they should call Quinn. Which sets me laughing again.

They're trying so hard to make me feel better it's almost painful. And just hearing someone ask if they should call Quinn Fabray to make Rachel Berry feel better is beyond painfully funny.

Santana gets it. Gets why I'm laughing, and she grins and then we're both laughing and the other two are staring at us like we've grown extra heads while Brittany just smiles and pats me.

I wipe my eyes when I'm done and I smile at Santana and she smiles back.

"All right, what did we miss?" Kurt asks, folding his arms.

Santana rolls her eyes, musses his hair. "Don't worry about it, Vitalis."

His scowl makes me giggle and the Cheerios lead me away.

We meet Quinn for dinner at Breadstix. Brittany tells her I laughed, and I can see happiness war with jealousy on her face. She still hasn't decided by the end of dinner, so when she takes me home, I bring her under the covers with me and hold her and press my lips to her ear and sing as softly as I'm capable of.

She shudders and sighs and then she starts kissing me all over, like she just can't contain herself. I tell her I didn't know my voice affected her like this. She orders me to sing in reply, so I do, and I giggle until she peels off my shirt and keeps kissing, her mouth open now. She moves to my other side just so she can kiss my back like she did my stomach as I keep singing.

I'm overheated now, but she isn't satisfied until she's covered every inch of my exposed skin. She moves back to my chest and when she kisses the top swell of my breast, just at the edge of my bra, I gasp and tug her back up to eye level.

"Quinn," I pant.

Her eyes burn into mine. "I love you."

My heart constricts and I can't stop a sob from escaping. She caresses me, kisses me, and I whimper.

"I can't," I weep.

"It's okay," she assures me, but I see the hurt in her eyes. She doesn't understand.

"I feel so guilty," I confess, my voice a whisper.

She freezes. "Why?" I only cry, so she starts kissing my face, murmuring, "Tell me, baby. Talk to me."

"I don't deserve you," I say, and then sob harder. "You make me happy and it's wrong because he's gone and I don't deserve it."

I think that's what I say, anyway. I'm not sure because I'm crying and my thoughts are jumbled again. It doesn't matter, because Quinn is hugging me hard, like she never wants to let go, and all I can think is that I shouldn't be lying here in Quinn's arms after singing to her and having her kiss me and tell me she loves me. I should be in a hospital bed, speaking to no one and staring at the white walls. I should be dead.

I go there in my head—to the room where people visit in an endless stream and I ignore them, only Quinn doesn't come and say hello and make me feel. Instead I lie there and I'm empty and nothing matters and nothing's real. I sink into it, embrace it, until I'm ripped out.

It's sudden and I'm angry that I've been pulled away from where I belong. I'm still angry when I see that it's Quinn who's ripped me out, hands on my face and holding me hard. Her eyes are filled with tears, but she looks angry, too, almost frenzied. I'm about to tell her to just leave me—I want to rot—but she speaks first, and her voice is harsh and thick with tears.

"Rachel, _listen_ to me. You are the most deserving of happiness of _anyone_ I've ever met." Her hands are shaking and it makes me shake. "Your father wanted you to be happy. He wanted your dreams to come true, to see you take Broadway, and you will." I start to shake my head. "You _will_. Because I want you to and your dad wants you to, and your daddy still does. And, most importantly, because you still want to. I know you do. And you deserve it, and I'm _not_ going to let you think otherwise."

She kisses me fiercely and I whimper into it and then she holds me and keeps telling me that I deserve it, and I cry and tell her I love her over and over, and each time she kisses me and I feel a little better with each touch.

XXXXXX

I'm still not completely ready. Not completely better. Neither is Quinn.

Her nerves are obvious when she comes to my locker in her brand new Cheerios uniform. I feel too overwhelmed by the all the people to think much about her nervousness.

But no one with a slushie comes my way. No one in a varsity jacket or a Cheerios uniform or an Abercrombie and Fitch shirt laughs at me or shoves me into my locker. It's still overwhelming, but that makes it better.

Brittany and Santana appear, and Quinn anxiously takes my hand as we walk down the hallway together. Santana guards the side Quinn isn't on, and I smile at her. She smiles back.

I know someone has seen our hands, because Quinn stiffens. The person disappears and she relaxes. I wait for her to stiffen again, preparing to take my hand away, because I don't want her to be uncomfortable. But she grabs my hand harder when I start to tug it away, and people continue to notice and ignore it, because even though this is Lima, Ohio, we have our fair share of freaks, and the people who don't think of it that way don't care.

Santana is looking at Quinn like she thinks she's the biggest idiot she's ever seen. Brittany distracts her and we all walk into the choir room together and sit together, too. Mr. Schuester greets us cheerfully and starts talking about what songs we'll be working on. Quinn kisses my cheek to get my attention. I smile bravely and she mouths 'I love you.' My smile grows and I mouth that I love her, too.

She gives me the brightest smile then and it reminds me of Daddy's happiest grin and my heart aches for just a second. But then I remember what Quinn said—that he wants me to be happy, that I deserve it. That it wasn't my fault. And it wasn't.

And as we start to sing, I'm singing for him, and I'm with my friends, and Quinn is holding my hand. And I think we'll be okay.


End file.
